


With A Faery (Hand In Hand)

by Sokkas_First_Fangirl



Series: Maycury Week [2]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brief animal abuse, Fae & Fairies, Fairy!Freddie, Fairy!Phoebe, Fluff, Getting Together, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mentions of Slavery, Public Humiliation, Rebellion, fairy!brian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:48:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26306584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sokkas_First_Fangirl/pseuds/Sokkas_First_Fangirl
Summary: When Brian is captured by humans he expects to be sold into slavery, or else killed on some scientist's experiment table.He doesn't expect to be rescued by a band of rebels. He certainly doesn't expect to find fellow Faeries among the rebels.He doesn't expect to fall for Freddie either. It's not where Brian ever expected or planned to end up, but perhaps that's not all such a bad thing. Perhaps he's where he wants to be, and where he wants to stay.**OR: Faeries and Humans are at war. Some Humans aren't a fan of this, and Brian gets dragged into it, but with Freddie there maybe it's not all bad.
Relationships: Brian May & Freddie Mercury, Brian May/Freddie Mercury, Jim Beach/Claudia Beach, John Deacon & Brian May & Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor, Peter "Phoebe" Freestone & Freddie Mercury
Series: Maycury Week [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1911310
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25
Collections: Maycury_Week_2020





	With A Faery (Hand In Hand)

**Author's Note:**

> Me? Uploading twice in one day? I'm shocked too.
> 
> Brief mention/description of animal cruelty, as well as slavery, murder, public humiliation and implied non/con. However, this story mostly focuses on the aftermath and our little band of rebels. All the same, stay safe 💕
> 
> To summarise: Brian is captured by humans, but Freddie has very pretty eyes and Brian's in no hurry to leave his side...

_“Come away, O human child!_

_To the waters and the wild_

_With a faery, hand in hand,_

_For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.”_ \- The Stolen Child, by W.B Yates

  
  
  


He supposed it was his own wretched fault. He’d wandered too close to the borders, he’d fallen for a Human trick, and now he was bound in irons, blindfolded, a knife wound cutting through his right wing. Helpless. 

The war between Humans and Faeries had lasted for over a thousand years. Each side had their own story to tell, their own myth and reason for the war starting. The Humans claimed the treacherous Fae royal family had killed their beloved Queen, the Queen now hailed as a saint and martyr, Titania; they killed her, and left her butchered remains for her children to find.

On the other hand, the Faeries claimed quite a different story. They said the Humans kidnapped, defiled, and killed their Princess Cassandra, and sent her wings in a box back to her parents as an added bit of mockery. In revenge, the Faeries killed the brutal Queen who allowed her sons to commit this atrocity, a warning to the King and his monstrous children. 

Brian was, of course, inclined to believe his own people. But sometimes, a part of him wondered if any of these people had even existed in the first place. But what did it matter now? If they existed they were long dead, and now millions of others were suffering and dying in their place, until the Faeries were forced into seclusion, hiding from the Humans.

And now Brian was included in that number of the damned.

  
  
  
  
  
  


He hadn’t been listening to the whispers of the woods, that was his first mistake. It was so early, barely dawn, and Brian had gone out to gather fruit and go to the well; he’d still been half-asleep, stuck in a daydream. 

And then he’d heard a cry of pain. An animal. He’d flown to its aid, and found a small dog stuck in a beartrap. It whimpered, struggling against its bonds, looking at Brian with big, frightened eyes.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Brian said, crouching down. “Don’t worry, little one-” And he broke off with a shocked cry as an iron arrow hit him in the shoulder. He could already feel the effects of the blasted metal, dulling his magic, making his ears ring and his head spin. Before he could do little more than stagger backwards, a knife cut through his wings, someone gave him an almighty whack on the head that set black spots dancing across his vision, and then five men were pinning him down, forcing iron handcuffs onto his wrists and ankles, stuffing a gag in his mouth.

“Got him!” one cried triumphantly. A rough hand grabbed his face, forcing him to look into the man’s ice cold eyes. “Not bad,” the man said. “He’ll fetch a good price. Let’s go, lads.” And they dragged Brian to his feet, hauling him along between them, joking among themselves, poking and prodding at him like a wild animal.

He never did find out what happened to the dog.

  
  
  
  
  
  


The auction was humiliating. They’d cleaned him up, and a woman in a long purple dress outlined his eyes in kohl and braided sections of his hair. The short robe they forced on him was too sheer for comfort, sleeveless and backless, so loosely tied that it was in danger of coming undone at any moment. He was still chained, and the iron was leaving angry red marks on his wrists and ankles, slowly spreading like burns. It _ached,_ and the longer they were on him, the less Brian could sense his magic.

He couldn’t hear the trees speak here, and he wondered if that was an effect of the iron, or if the trees in the Human lands were mute. Perhaps they had nothing to say. Perhaps they too had been forced into silence. 

The auction was full of other Faeries, all of them bound in chains, some of them dressed similarly to Brian, some in nothing at all. And some of the prisoners, to Brian’s surprise, were Humans. He openly stared at them, wondering why they were in chains, about to be sold off. Perhaps they owed the wrong people debts? Perhaps they’d broken the law?

_What monsters do this to their own people?_ Brian wondered. _What monsters do this at all?_

He didn’t get much time to wonder, because he was being dragged to the stage, led through dusty red curtains and into a harsh light. The room was filled to the brim and everyone- the audience, the auctioneer, the handlers- wore masks, such as one would wear to a masked ball. They were all dressed sumptuously, their jewellery glittered in the light of the lamps and chandeliers, but their masks made them look like something from a nightmare. They didn’t feel like people.

There were catcalls and jeers as the handler pushed Brian forward. He staggered and fell to his knees, but before he could try and rise the man grabbed him by the shoulder and held him there. Brian narrowed his eyes, the only show of defiance he could manage; he could hardly lash out or shout, bound and gagged as he was. So he was determined to look these monsters in the eye and let them know that they disgusted him. That he would not be cowed or broken. 

_I_ will _escape,_ he thought. _I will._ Truthfully, he couldn’t see how that was possible, but his parents had always said he was nothing if not stubborn. And he was clever, he knew he was; surely he could think of an escape plan? He didn’t plan on becoming someone’s slave, or cut to ribbons on an experiment table. He’d heard horror stories of such things, and more.

The bidding started. _100, 200, 300..._ It went on longer than Brian had expected and, forced into stillness, there was nothing to distract him from the throbbing pain the iron caused. It itched, it throbbed, it _burned,_ and he felt terribly dizzy the longer he knelt there.

And then-

_“5,000!”_

There was silence. No one went any higher. The gavel came down, and the auctioneer pointed to a pair of young men in matching fox masks. “Sold!” he cried. The handler grinned, well satisfied, and dragged Brian backstage, laughing when Brian struggled to stand. The two men followed.

They were both shorter than Brian, though that wasn’t hard. Their masks matched, their red cloaks matched, though their clothing was different, and they both wore black gloves. The slightly taller one took Brian’s chains, and the other one handed the handler a sack of gold.

“He’ll make our master a very happy man indeed,” he drawled. The taller one tugged on the chains, dragging Brian along with them. “Come on then, slut; we’re going home.”

Brian burned with hatred and humiliation, but a very odd thing happened when the door closed behind them. They were at the back of the building, surrounded by carriages, and suddenly the taller one unchained Brian.

“Gods, I’m sorry,” the shorter one said and tugged his mask off and threw his hood back, revealing a face so lovely he looked like he belonged in a temple painting, with shockingly blue eyes, full lips and long blonde hair. “Are you alright?”

“I-” Gingerly, Brian flexed his hands and winced. Was he alright? Spirits above and below, of course he wasn’t alright!

The taller one took his mask off and shrugged his cloak around Brian. He looked anxious, his long brown hair was in a tight plait, his grey-green eyes wide and frightened, like he expected Brian to lash out.

“We’re not going to hurt you,” the blonde said. He began to walk quickly, gesturing impatiently; quick as a wink, he pulled a knife out of his vest, looking around him with narrowed, suspicious eyes. “We’re with the rebels.”

“The- the what?” Brian asked. He followed without thinking. If all else failed, surely he could make a break for it? He was in no fit state to fly, but maybe if he just ran fast enough…

“The rebels,” the blonde boy repeated. “We help free people like you. Faeries. We’re fighting against the King and Queen.”

“Rog, John!” came a worried hiss, and a young man poked his head out of a nearby carriage. It was plain black, with no ornaments or carvings, and the curtains were black too, quite unlike the others around it. The young man had shaggy, wavy brown hair and he waved them over. He looked relieved when he spotted Brian. “Went alright then,” he said, and hopped out of the carriage. He shoved a black hat on and jumped into the driver’s seat.

“As alright as can be expected,” the blonde said. He grinned at Brian. “I’m Roger, this is John and our lovely driver today is Tim.”

Brian didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t quite fancy introducing himself.

“We’ll get you healed up, don’t worry,” John said, climbing into the carriage. He held a hand out for Brian. “And then we’ll get you home.”

Brian stood where he was, arms tightly folded. “If you’re really rebels how did you just give them 5,000 in gold?” Weren’t rebels usually- well, _broke?_ Hiding in the shadows, striking at night, that sort of thing? These boys, all so young, didn’t look like rebels to him.

“We didn’t,” Roger laughed. “It’s fool’s gold; Freddie made it.” He jerked his head at the carriage. “So we’ll be wanting to vanish before that gold does.”

What choice did he have? He was in pain, exhausted, unable to fly and on top of it all he had no idea where he was. The border could be days or weeks away for all he knew. His hair was long and thick enough to hide his pointed ears, and the cloak was large enough to hide his wings, but he didn’t have any proper clothes, and he didn’t know how long it would take for his magic to stabilize again. 

So, with a sigh, Brian took John’s hand and let the young man help him into the carriage. Roger climbed in behind him and closed the door, and they instantly began to move; the horses sped along and Brian wondered if he’d made a horrible mistake.

  
  
  
  
  
  


He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, Roger was gently shaking him awake. “Hey? Hey, mate, we’re here, c’mon.” He pushed the door open and helped Brian down. Brian looked around, brinkley rapidly, trying to orientate himself. It was pitch black out and they were in a field, with a stable and a farmhouse. Tim led the horses away and another young man, stocky with brown hair, hurried from the house to help him. 

Brian sighed in relief when they got into the house; it was lovely and warm, and he could smell fresh bread baking. He spotted some cats dozing on a sofa. It was a pretty house, quite large, with hardwood flooring and flowers on the table.

“Oh, you’re back already!” cam a jovial voice. A man came down the stairs, dressed plainly. He beamed at the three of them and inclined his head to Brian. “Lovely to meet you. I’m Jim Beach, the owner of this house.” He turned to Roger and John. “And before you say anything, yes, Freddie’s still angry you wouldn’t let him go with you.”

Roger made an indignant little noise, throwing his hands up. “He hardly _could!_ ”

“I’ll leave that to you to sort out,” Beach said with a smile. “Come on, then.” He led the way upstairs, into a bedroom. He went to the second bookshelf and pulled on a book- Brian couldn’t see which one- and there was an odd _clicking_ noise, like something unlocking. Beach tugged on the side of the bookshelf, and the whole thing moved away from the wall, albeit with some effort, swinging open like a door. Behind was a narrow passageway and a staircase leading back down. Beach handed John a candle in a brass candelabra, and the two so-called rebels stepped through the passageway, pausing when they realised Brian wasn’t at their side.

“Are you kidding me?” Brian asked flatly.

“It leads to the tunnels,” Roger said with a shrug, as if that meant anything to Brian. At Brian’s narrowed stare, he added, “It leads to our base.”

“You can trust them,” Beach said gently. “I’ll have my wife bring some food to you, and we’ll find you some clothing, okay, lad?”

Well, what was one more bad decision? Surely if they were going to assault or kill him, they would have done so already? Surely they wouldn’t have released him?

He felt suspicious as he followed them all the same.

  
  
  
  
  
  


The staircase was narrow and somewhat slippery, but Brian waved Roger’s hand away, making sure to keep the two rebels in front of him. Damned if he’d turn his back on them. The stairs went down and down until Brian began to feel quite claustrophobic indeed- and then they finally reached flat ground. It was a long tunnel with a few scant torches in the walls, many of which weren’t lit. The tunnel didn’t just go straight either; it twisted and turned, and often broke off into different directions. But Brian supposed that was the point.

They passed doorways; some looked battered and old, some looked brand new; some had heavy locks, some didn’t, but they finally came to a door that they stopped at and John pulled a small key from his pocket and opened it.

The inside took Brian completely by surprise.

It was a large room, a surprisingly cheerful looking room with bright furniture, well lit, with a thick carpet. Cats prowled about and Brian counted at least six other doors, leading to different rooms. A base indeed, it was more like an underground home!

“Freddie!” Roger called, shrugging his cloak off and tossing it across the nearest chair. “Phoebe! We’re back!”

The door straight across from them opened, there was a relieved cry and faster than Brian could blink, a multi-coloured blur knocked straight into Roger and John. It was a young man, talking rapidly, scolding them, asking if they were alright, beaming at them and then immediately frowning at them and wagging his finger like a chiding parent.

He was a small man, much smaller than Brian; a dainty young man with long black hair and big brown eyes, a noticeable overbite and high cheekbones. A young man clad in bright clothing...A young man that hovered inches from the ground as he spoke to his friends, hovering on a pair of glimmering yellow wings.

_Oh,_ Brian thought, staggered, swaying on the spot.

Behind the small man was a taller one, a man as tall as Brian, broad, quite fat, with a kindly face and shining eyes, and- _oh Spirits-_ a pair of rose pink wings.

Faeries. Two of the rebels were _Faeries._

Brian stepped forward and the smaller Faery finally noticed him, and smiled sweetly. He held his tiny hand out. His nails were painted black.

“Hello, darling,” he said, surprisingly gentle for all that he’d been so loud mere seconds before. “I’m Freddie.”

“And I’m Phoebe,” the other Faery added. His smile was gentle, understanding. “You’re safe now.”

Reeling, Brian took Freddie’s hand.

“I’m Brian,” he all but whispered.

  
  
  
  
  
  


Brian had to make do with some of Beach’s clothing; Freddie cut the back off for him, and he and Phoebe immediately set to work on checking his wings. The knife wound had been left untreated, and every flicker of his wings left Brian wincing.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Freddie told him. “I know just what to do.” He flitted around, energetic despite the late hour. When Phoebe’s eyes began to droop, he gently pushed his friend towards one of the bedrooms. “Go rest, lovie,” he said. Phoebe weakly protested in between yawns, but Freddie won out. Soon enough, they were left alone. Roger, John, Tim, Phoebe and a young man who’d introduced himself as Joe, were all asleep. Even the cats had dozed off.

The first thing Freddie did was begin to sew the wound on his wing shut. The thread he used glowed faintly; Brian didn’t recognise it.

Freddie saw him staring. “My mother made it,” he said, not quite meeting Brian’s eyes. “It took nearly three years to recreate it.” The salve he rubbed into Brian’s wing was worryingly slimy and smelled of too many herbs and flowers to count. It made his nose wrinkle, but Freddie didn’t seem to notice.

“Can I ask what you’re doing here?” Brian’s voice hitched awkwardly and he couldn’t look at Freddie as he said it. Freddie’s hands stilled. He’d been humming as he worked, but he suddenly stopped.

His next breath shuddered. “Have you ever heard of Rhye?” he asked, and Brian wanted the ground to open up and swallow him.

Rhye. The Rhye Massacre, The Dreaded Incident, The Great Slaughter...the tragedy of many names.

“Yes,” Brian whispered.

“Well, there you go,” Freddie said, his voice closed off. “That’s how.”

“I’m sorry,” Brian said, twisting around to face him. “I shouldn’t have asked. I knew it would be bad, but-”

“But not _Rhye_ bad?” Freddie raised an eyebrow. He smiled and it didn’t reach his eyes. He turned the little pot of salve around and around in his equally small hands. How had such a small Faery survived that utter horror?

“We always heard there were no survivors,” Brian said. His father had been among the first responders, the volunteers that rushed to rescue anyone they could...But by the time they got there, it was too late. They were met with a town put to the torch, they were met with the mutilated and charred remains of their people, the blood chilling tang of iron on the air, smoke choking the volunteers and soldiers, even from a distance. 

Harold May was a stern man, a strong man...But he barely slept for weeks after the things he saw.

One more crime the Humans committed against them, one more sin, one more travesty. Even the animals had been killed, the fields all scorched and salted, various poisons poured into the water.

Rhye had been a beautiful town, renowned for its scholars and musicians. One of the jewels of their kingdom.

That hadn’t mattered to the Human army.

Freddie’s big brown eyes had gone very dark; unfocussed. He shivered as he knelt there. 

“Oh, there were survivors,” Freddie said dully. “They’d heard about Rhye. They’d heard songs that our people were- were beautiful, and clever. _Talented._ ” He looked Brian right in the eye and his expression chilled Brian to the bone. “They wouldn’t let _all_ of us go to waste.”

“Freddie-”

“They took everything,” Freddie said, and he turned away. “They took _everything_ from me. _This_ is my home now, and _this_ is my family.” His voice hardened. “I won’t lose them.”

“They tricked me,” Brian blurted out. “I walked right into a trap.” Freddie looked at him from the corner of his eye, a concerned frown forming.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Freddie said quietly. “If I made you uncomfortable-”

“I’m sorry if I made _you_ uncomfortable,” Brian said. He resisted the urge to take Freddie’s hand. “But I- I really did walk into a trap. They’d hurt a dog, put it in a beartrap. I- I heard it...It was crying, so I-”

“Tried to help,” Freddie finished. Brian nodded; his throat felt tight, his eyes suddenly stung terribly, and he couldn’t remember ever having felt so frightened before the Humans captured him. They’d been at war all his life, but he’d never been personally harmed. 

He considered himself to be brave, but he defied anyone to be captured like a wild animal, to be treated like a toy, a rare prize, and not be frightened. 

He didn’t realise he was crying until he felt Freddie’s thin arms around him.

“It’s okay,” Freddie said gently. “Let it out.”

He did. Any other time he’d have been mortified to cry in front of a stranger, but for now he clung to Freddie and himself cry.

  
  
  
  
  
  


The next day was something of an introduction. Certainly, Brian had met everyone last night, but now he got to truly _observe,_ and watch how they worked. Jim Beach and his wife, Claudia, indeed owned the farm, that wasn’t a ruse. Roger, Tim, John and Joe were farmhands by day, rebels by night; they helped take care of the animals and worked the land and, in their free time, they practiced their skills. They threw knives, they climbed trees; they had an entire hidden _training course_ in the woods. Freddie and Phoebe helped Claudia inside the house, prepared to hide at a moment’s notice if any of the King’s men came this way, but when it was safe they flew around at top speeds, going so fast they were blurs, turning so sharply it made Brian dizzy.

He ached to fly again, and felt impatient stuck on the ground. Claudia smiled at him sympathetically and handed him a cup of tea.

“Don’t you worry, love,” she said. “That stuff Freddie uses works wonders. It had Phoebe all patched up in two weeks; you’ll be soaring around in no time.” She couldn’t have been _that_ much older than them really, but she spoke to them all like she was their mother.

Perhaps it was the circumstances, but Brian appreciated it.

He sipped at his tea, Claudia at his side, and Freddie came flying down, stopping mere inches from Brian’s face.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. He pressed his hand to Brian’s forehead, testing his temperature. “Do you need more salve?”

“I’m okay,” Brian said, but Freddie didn’t look convinced. 

“I’ll get more salve,” he said decisively, and flew away, ignoring Brian’s protests.

“You get used to him,” Claudia laughed fondly. Phoebe landed in front of them, hands on his hips.

“He can be a bit much,” Phoebe said. “But he means well.”

“I know,” Brian said, and drank his tea. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


Each day, Freddie and Phoebe helped him practice his magic. They practiced with small spells, the type children would practice with, as Brian got used to having his magic back under his control. It burst out at odd moments and then, at other times, deserted him entirely. 

But slowly but surely, he was getting back into the swing of things, summoning flowers, levitating small objects. He’d sit by the training course and meditate, try to listen to the nature around him, but it was silent.

When he brought it up, Phoebe drooped sadly.

“I know,” he said. “I never hear anything either.” Nor it seemed did Freddie, for all that he’d been here the longest.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” Freddie said. “If it’s the lack of magic in the area, or if they don’t want to talk.”

Brian wondered if the trees would talk if the war ended.

He wondered if that was ever likely to happen.

  
  
  
  
  
  


The days passed slowly; they were busy, and yet time seemed to drag. Brian was always aware that he wasn’t at home. He was always aware of the danger around them, always looking over his shoulder, expecting Human soldiers to attack at any moment.

But to his own surprise he _liked_ these people. He liked Roger’s cheerful attitude and jokes; he liked Joe’s stories, John’s quiet, sassy comments and Tim’s banter. He liked Phoebe’s gentle nature and Freddie’s warmth. He liked Beach’s reassuring manner and Claudia’s sweetness. Liking Freddie and Phoebe he could understand; they were Faeries like him. But liking Humans? _Befriending_ Humans? It was unheard of. Because Humans were monsters. Humans were vile, heartless creatures.

Except, perhaps, they weren’t.

He thought again of those Humans in chains at the auction, and wondered…

Freddie tapped him on the shoulder and Brian turned to him, startled. “You look a million miles away, darling,” Freddie said with a smile.

“Just thinking,” Brian said.

“What about?”

He wondered if Freddie was the right person to say this to. This young man’s whole world had been destroyed by Humans; his family and friends massacred, enslaved himself until he escaped. 

And yet Brian blurted it out anyway; “Humans aren’t all evil, are they?”

Freddie looked surprised by the question. He pursed his lips, his hands clasped. “No,” he said slowly. “Not all of them.” He gestured towards the rebels, running through their course. “After all, _they’re_ kind.”

_So are you,_ Brian thought, and he pushed that thought away. He was thinking far too much about Freddie.

“They are,” Brian agreed. 

Freddie smiled and took his hand. “I know it’s frightening, darling,” he said gently. “And confusing. But there’s good in this world, if you only look for it.”

Brian was certain he _was_ looking at it.

  
  
  
  
  
  


The day his wings were fully healed was the day he finally _did_ something about it. He’d only known Freddie two weeks, and yet he trusted this Faery. And Freddie, despite the terrors he’d lived through, had trusted Brian with his story; he’d looked after Brian, helped heal him and never once told him to man up, to not feel sorry for himself. When Brian felt guilty for unloading onto him, Freddie would press a finger to Brian’s lips and firmly tell him to not be so silly.

He felt unaccountably nervous as Freddie took his hands and gently led him up into the air. They only hovered barely a foot off the ground, and yet Brian worried about falling. When was the last time he’d had to worry about such a thing? He’d been flying since he was little over a year old, and yet now he was terrified the Humans had taken it from him.

But no, he stayed steady in the air, his heart pounding. Freddie went to pull back, but Brian held onto his hands. “Don’t,” he said quietly, half pleading, and Freddie stayed.

“Are you alright?” Freddie asked.

“Terrified,” Brian said with a somewhat hysterical laugh. He thought he sounded like a madman, but Freddie looked sympathetic. The sun was shining, Freddie’s wings glittered, his eyes were bright and warm. Brian thought he was wonderful.

And Brian kissed him.

He expected Freddie to push him away, but he didn’t. Instead, he pulled Brian in closer, and Brian didn’t realise how high they’d risen until they pulled back. They’d reached the tree tops and he laughed, pulling Freddie into his arms.

It was far too early to say he loved him, but he knew this: he wanted Freddie in his life. He wanted to stay with him.

Freddie clung to him just as tightly and Brian didn’t want to go back down.

  
  
  
  
  
  


They walked back towards the farm, hand in hand. Brian wished he could keep flying, but he was already worn out.

“This won’t be easy,” Freddie said quietly.

“I know,” Brian told him.

“You could go home.” Freddie looked at him sideways, nervously biting his lip, twisting his hair around his finger.

“I know.” Brian held his hand tighter. “But I won’t. Not yet. Not until we’re _both_ safe to do so.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Their friends didn’t look surprised.

“Fred’s been making eyes at you since you arrived,” Roger said; he was lounging in his seat, eating an apple. “Was only a matter of time really.” Freddie threw a pillow and hit him square in the face.

“Well, I reckon some congratulations are in order,” Joe said and held up a bottle of wine. “How about it?”

“Oh fuck it,” Freddie said and took the bottle. 

They spent the evening sitting together in a circle, laughing and drinking, swapping stories and jokes. Brian didn’t let go of Freddie’s hand, and Freddie rested his head on Brian’s shoulder, humming under his breath.

This was not where Brian ever expected to be, but this was where he wanted to stay. Now that he could fly and cast spells again, he could travel around, meet the other rebels. He could take part in their missions and operations. He would do what he could to further their cause and end this war. For the people of Rhye, for all those massacred Fae...And even for those humans in chains, those forced to serve one way or another.

Freddie kissed his cheek. “You’re thinking again,” he said softly. “What about?”

“Everything,” Brian said, which was true enough. He squeezed Freddie’s hand, smiling down at him. Right or wrong, this was where Brian was, where he wanted to be. Right here, at Freddie’s side.

And one day, he told himself, they would all be free.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's all she wrote. Happy Maycury week!


End file.
